


A Little More Time

by loves_books



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don’t think I want to remember, do I?” In his gut, James knows something bad happened. Something very bad.</p>
<p>Robbie smiles sadly at him. “You’ll have to remember soon, you know. But for now, get yourself up, lad. Shower, shave, and get dressed. We’ve got some time yet.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little More Time

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this up on my lj for a week or two and hadn't ever planned to share it here, but the only person I know who has read it has encouraged me to put it up, even though it made her cry. Please take note of the warning, and there are also further warnings (containing slight spoilers) listed at the end of the page, along with some more notes. 
> 
> This was written in only a couple of hours, with no research done, and barely edited. Not beta-read. But it needed writing once the idea was there, as I needed to get it out of my head and not linger over it, if that makes any sense.
> 
> Again, please take note of the warning. Thanks x

The first thing James sees when he manages to force his eyes open is the unexpected sight of his dress uniform, hanging on the back of the wardrobe door. His white gloves lie on the dresser by his cap, and his dress shoes are sitting polished to perfection on the floor beneath, though he has no memory of why he would have laid everything out so carefully.

His head is thumping, though, in a manner he knows all too well. He does have vague memories of drinking his way steadily through most of Robbie’s stash of finest whiskey, and he rolls carefully over as his stomach starts to churn ominously.

Robbie’s side of the bed is cold and empty, the pillow already fluffed up, and the sheets and quilt smoothed into place. James frowns – he must have been dangerously drunk not to even have stirred when his partner got up. He is usually the lighter sleeper, the first to jolt awake at the slightest movement.

“Ah, there you are, pet. I was wonderin’ when you’d surface.” A familiar, gruff Northern voice drifts in from the doorway, and James lifts his aching head to see the man himself, already dressed in his smartest black suit. “How’s the head?”

James has to clear his throat several times before finding his voice. “Pounding,” he whispers, and even that single word feels like a hot poker stabbing into his brain. “How much did I drink, exactly? And why?”

“Too much, lad. Far too much.” There is a note of fond teasing in Robbie’s voice, though that changes to a slight hint of sorrow as he continues, “As for the ‘why’, I take it you don’t remember?”

“I don’t think I want to remember, do I?” In his gut, James knows something bad happened. Something very bad.

Robbie smiles sadly at him. “You’ll have to remember soon, you know. But for now, get yourself up, lad. Shower, shave, and get dressed. We’ve got some time yet.”

Even hungover and confused, James finds himself obeying Robbie almost automatically. They are equals here, of course, in the flat they have shared for nearly six months. They are together, finally, in love and ridiculously happy, and James is more content than he ever thought he could be.

Why, then, does he have such a feeling of dread? What could have happened, he wonders, as he stands beneath steaming hot water in the shower, trying to wash his hangover away. What happened to make him want to get so blindingly drunk?

Something in the back of his sluggish mind tells him he really doesn’t want to remember, not yet. Not ever, possibly. And when he gets back into their bedroom, the sight of his dress uniform – steamed and pressed, buttons polished to a high shine – the sight of it all makes him sick to his stomach. 

He quickly dresses in tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie instead, hurrying out of the room and pulling the door closed behind him. Robbie had said they had time, after all. He’ll have coffee first, then deal with whatever comes next.

But when he gets to the kitchen, he’s surprised to see the coffee machine sitting silent and empty on the side. There’s no bread in the toaster, either, and James frowns. Robbie always gets the coffee brewing and the breakfast on if he’s up first.

“Sorry, love.” The sudden voice from behind him makes James jump, and he turns to see Robbie coming in from the living room. “I hadn’t got that far. How’s the head now? Do you remember yet?”

James takes his time before answering, getting breakfast underway and trying to think things through. “My head is a bit better, thanks. The shower definitely helped. But I still feel…”

“What, love? What do you feel?” Robbie perches on one of the stools by their breakfast bar, arms folded carefully over his chest. 

“I feel… I’ve forgotten something, I know. I’ve forgotten something important, and I just feel sick.” It’s the closest James can get to explaining this horrible feeling in his gut. He knows his growing nausea isn’t from the hangover beating away behind his eyes. “Robbie, what happened?”

Robbie just offers him a sad smile, and it feels as if a fist closes around James’s heart and twists painfully. It suddenly occurs to him that he hasn’t kissed his man good morning yet, nor have Robbie’s strong arms wrapped around him in greeting. But something about the way Robbie is sitting so still makes James turn back to the coffee machine rather than crossing the room to his side.

He does turn the toaster off, though. There’s no possibility he could eat anything, not now.

“We’ve got time yet, love,” Robbie says softly. “You don’t have to remember just yet. There’s not much time, now, but we’ve got a little more.”

A sudden bang outside – just a car backfiring, but James flinches hard as if it was a gunshot, spilling his freshly-brewed coffee all over the side.

“I don’t want to remember, do I?” he asks, mopping up the mess as quickly as he can. “Robbie, did I do something? Or, no, I didn’t do something – there was something I should have done. I failed, is that it? I let you down?”

“No, love. You didn’t fail. It wasn’t your fault, and you have to believe that. It wasn’t your fault. You never let me down, not even once.”

“Robbie, I – ” More banging, this time on the front door, but James manages not to flinch again. He turns instead to look at the man he loves more than life. “You’ve never let me down either. I don’t say it often enough, but I love you.”

“And I love you too, James. You have to remember that, okay? No matter what.” Robbie looks so sad, but still he smiles at James. “It didn’t hurt. It happened so fast.”

Before James can ask what Robbie means, there is more banging on the door, accompanied this time by a familiar voice calling through the letterbox. “James, are you in there?”

“Laura?” James takes half a step towards the hall, then stops, turning back to Robbie. “I don’t, I can’t… I don’t want to remember, Robbie.” To his surprise, he’s suddenly choking on a sob, his throat tight and his eyes burning. “We still have a little more time, don’t we? Please say we still have time.”

“I’m so sorry, pet, but our time’s nearly up now.” Robbie stands, tugging on his suit jacket to straighten it. “You’ll be okay, I know you will. And I won’t be far.”

“James? Please open the door. It’s nearly time, James.” For one irrational moment, he wants to scream at Laura, tell her to go away, just go. “Please, James. I can’t do this on my own. Please, just open the door.”

“Go on, James.” Robbie offers him a smile and a nod, and James doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t even want to try. “Go on now, love. You carry on. For me.”

How can he refuse a request like that? He could never deny Robbie anything, ever. James smiles back at Robbie through the tears he can suddenly feel streaming down his face, then he turns to walk slowly down the long hallway to let Laura in.

As soon as he opens the door, Laura pulls him into a fierce hug, and James finds himself clinging to her tiny form. The good doctor is wearing a black skirt and jacket, a soft blue scarf wrapped around her neck, and James can feel her trembling ever so slightly in his arms.

“Oh, James,” she murmurs into his chest, before suddenly pulling out of his embrace and taking hold of his biceps, holding him at arms’ length. “Look at you; you aren’t even dressed yet. Come on, now. The funeral starts in an hour.”

And suddenly James remembers everything. The single gunshot, the blood, his own screams as Robbie fell and didn’t get up again.

He doesn’t want to remember, but he does.

He doesn’t want it to be true, but it is.

“Robbie…” James hurries back to the kitchen, but the room is empty, of course. “No, please, please…” He runs to the living room, then back through the kitchen, ignoring the way Laura is calling his name. 

He finally comes to a stop in their bedroom, crashing helplessly to his knees in front of his dress uniform, ready and waiting for him to wear as he takes part in the honour guard. The tears come hard, now, and Laura kneels behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and rocking him slowly.

“Come on, James,” she whispers, and he can hear the tears in her voice. He isn’t the only one grieving, of course, but he selfishly thinks his loss is undeniably greater than Laura’s. “You have to be strong now.”

“I don’t want to,” James manages to choke out, even as she starts trying to pull him to his feet. “I don’t want to remember, Laura. I just need a little more time.”

They just need a little more time, him and Robbie. But there is no more time, nor will there ever be. Robbie is dead, and their time together is at an end.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Major Character Death. Angst. Also, depending on your interpretation, either ghosts, mental health problems (denial, hallucinations), alcohol problems, or some combination of all of these.
> 
> I wouldn't feel right posting this without acknowledging the fact that the original idea for this piece is not mine. A recent online conversation turned to stories we'd read which had stayed with us for a long time after finishing reading them, which brought to mind a James Bond/Q story I remember reading a long time back (probably more than a year ago, if not longer). I don't remember the author, title, or even where I read it sadly - though I'm fairly sure it was on lj somewhere rather than ao3 - but I wanted to try something similar, and this piece is the result. I owe credit and thanks to the unknown author for their inspiration.


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